


From the Ashes II

by Marta



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, Pre-Canon, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-02
Updated: 2009-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta/pseuds/Marta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We are fire-masters, we guardians of Ithilien." Faramir begins to see the truth in his father's words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Ashes II

Faramir squatted in the mud. The brambly bush overhead shielded the worst of the rain, but he knew his clothes would be soaked ere morning. He scowled to himself. Ithilien had seemed a nice enough posting when he was safe and dry in Minas Tirith. He had even requested it; the stoic rangers, free of the bluster that marked his brother's comrades, had appealed to him. Now, however...

They were fire-masters, the guardians of Ithilien – so his father had warned him in those weeks before he first crossed the river. At the time he had wondered what the steward had meant. Now, though, he knew. He had seen ancient homes reduced to blackened stone and charred beams, but had also seen flowers springing among the rubble. They grew more thickly here than they did on the Pelennor, and gave a sweeter fragrance in spite of the orcs' destruction.

That sight had called to mind stories he'd heard as a lad, from his uncle in Dol Amroth. Haradri farmers would burn the fields, if one believed the rumors, every spring before their planting. He had laughed that anyone could do that to their own fields! Yet then he'd tasted his first orange, so sweet and juicy, and he couldn't argue with their results.

Faramir eased his hand into the mud, not to catch his balance or for the childish pleasure of mud oozing between his fingers; he felt for a pulse, the heartbeat of this land. Now he understood: to master a fire, to kindle it and guide it so it burned away the waste of the past until only rich soil remained… that was what his father had meant. He had to remind himself that Denethor, for all his age and wisdom, had once been a newly-minted ranger as well. He knew.

In spite of the rain, Faramir smiled to himself. So much of Arda's history was like a phoenix rising from the ash. Kingdoms fell, ages toppled, yet history endured. He could not say how it happened, how men and elves and other free folk survived the shadows to see Elbereth's lanterns again. So may it be for Gondor.


End file.
